


Provider

by unadrift



Series: Proxy Series [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-22
Updated: 2011-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-14 23:28:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/154645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unadrift/pseuds/unadrift
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam looks up from his computer, does a double take and says incredulously, 'Dude, is that a hickey?'<br/>'No,' Castiel denies immediately.<br/>Dean moves closer and squints at the spot in question. Castiel flushes bright red under the scrutiny, and yeah, that's totally a hickey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Provider

**Author's Note:**

> This also features a tiny smidgen of Dean/Castiel/Meg, and voyeurism, sort of.  
> Thank you to **icelily01** for the beta!

Castiel is acting strange.

Well, stranger than usual. He pops in out of nowhere without so much as a hello (usual), then he's all business and tight-lipped and demanding assistance with some problem or other of biblical proportions (also usual), but he won't meet Dean's eyes (definitely not usual).

Dean is pretty sure he hasn't done anything lately to piss the angel off any more than is par for the course, so he's at a loss, until Sam looks up from his computer, does a double take at the angel and says incredulously, "Dude, is that a hickey?"

"No," Castiel denies immediately.

Dean moves closer and squints at the spot in question. Castiel flushes bright red under the scrutiny, and yeah, that's totally a hickey.

"You dog," Dean says and claps him on the shoulder. "Finally popped that angelic cherry, huh? Took you long enough."

He's about to ask a few nosy questions, but Castiel cuts him off, instructs them to check in if they hear anything more about the Basket of Moses, or whatever the hell it is they're looking for here, Dean wasn't even listening, and then he flies off like he can't get away fast enough.

They both stare at the empty space that held a man-shaped angel a moment before.

"Huh," Dean says.

"Bad sex experience?" Sam hazards with a raised eyebrow.

"Figures. Like Cas and fun could ever go together," he says and shrugs the whole thing off.

Or he would like to, but it keeps occupying his mind. All the damn time.

Like, what kind of woman had Cas chosen? Red head, dark-haired, blonde? Tall or slight? Slim or with generous curves? Or had he taken the beautiful-on-the-inside approach? That would be a very Cas thing to do, Dean decides, to select his prom date for the shine of her soul. Or maybe it hadn't been like that at all. Maybe she had gone for him.

It's strangely difficult to picture Cas with anyone other than Chastity, the girl from the brothel a year ago, and that hadn't even led anywhere other than quickly out the back door of the establishment. Dean is vaguely aware that the idea of Cas with another woman shouldn't seem weird. Somehow, it does, but he doesn't dwell on it. He makes an effort not to. Instead, he wonders if Cas was a gentleman with that mystery girl, if he was undemanding and pliant, or if he just--

Dean stops himself from going down that road. And he isn't thinking about how Cas had grabbed and kissed that bitch of a-- that-- Meg. Right in front of Dean. No, he isn't thinking about the spark of redirected aggression there, the reciprocation. He isn't thinking about that at all.

 

 

Two days later Dean receives a rogue text message. It reads, _The angel cries out your name when he comes_.

He puzzles about it for a moment, then deletes it with a shake of his head. While he appreciates dirty talk as much as the next guy, he'd also appreciate it if people kept their phone numbers straight. Certain kinds of messages really should reach the intended recipient.

He continues to live in blissful ignorance for another week.

 

 

"The demon Meg claims she has information for me."

Only years of experience with the angelic mode of transportation prevent Dean from jumping five feet into the air. He merely jumps maybe a half. He carefully puts down his cup, licks some (hot, damn, _hot_ ) coffee from his hand and turns around slowly.

"Cas," he says. "Still not much for pleasantries, are you?"

Castiel looks undecided between wanting to get down to business, and not wanting to be here at all. It stings, not that Dean would admit that out loud.

"She says she will only relay the information to you," Castiel continues.

He's staring intently at a spot over Dean's shoulder. Dean used to hate Castiel's creepy-ass I-can-extract-your-secrets-through-your-pupils stares, but he's starting to kind of miss them. Not that he would admit that out loud either.

"What, you're pen pals with a demon now? Sucking face once made you BFFs?"

It could be Dean's imagination, but he thinks Castiel's face is heating.

"Will you help me or not?" Castiel says sternly.

It sounds like an ultimatum rather than a question.

"And here I was thinking your small talk couldn't get any worse," Dean mutters. "Okay, Cas. Fine. Hit me."

Castiel does.

"With the details! Jesus!" Dean yells when Castiel lowers his fingers, after the damage is already done. "I meant 'Hit me with the details', not with your teleport fingers of doom."

"Then perhaps you should have said so," Castiel answers, irritated.

They're in another motel room, no telling where exactly. Those damn things look the exact same brand of ugly everywhere.

Well, except for the figure sprawled on the queen-sized bed.

"Hello boys," Meg greets, showing off her perfect teeth in a shark-like smile. "Nice of you to drop by."

On instinct, Dean reaches for Ruby's knife, which is back in his motel room, as well as his gun. Great going there, Winchester.

"Meg. Always a pleasure," he says acidly.

Her smile grows wider. She directs it at Castiel. "You have no idea how much of one."

Castiel shifts on his feet, Dean can see it from the corner of his eye. He frowns, but doesn't take his attention off of Meg. Cas never used to shift on his feet. He always stood rooted to the spot. It was an angel thing.

"Next time, Cas," Dean hisses through his teeth, "some warning would be nice."

Castiel ignores him, and yeah, that's always fun. Dean already hated it with Zachariah and his feather brain squad, but he fucking loathes it when Cas treats him like thin air.

"Pass the information now," Castiel demands.

Meg tilts her head. "You didn't think I'd let you off easy, did you?"

She licks her lips, and that-- That is almost flirtation. More like a blatant offer, really. Dean swallows down a lump of disgust/anger/something-that-is-definitely-not-jealousy, because this can't be what it looks like.

Castiel darts a glance at Dean then. He's nervous. No, scratch that. He looks downright terrified.

"No, angel, I'm not the one who's easy here," Meg says. "Pay attention, Dean-o, 'cause this is the important part." And then, in a completely disturbing move, she winks at Dean suggestively.

Dean is still shuddering from the gesture, because _eew_ , when Meg goes from stretched out on the bed to violating Castiel's personal space so fast Dean doesn't catch the transition from one to the other. Castiel takes a step back; involuntarily, Dean thinks. If he didn't know any better, he would have described the expression on Cas' face as shocked, helpless, deer-caught-in-headlights, but that doesn't make sense. That's not who Castiel is, except maybe when he's around-- Oh, shit.

"Meg," Dean shouts. "What do you think you're--"

She ignores him and gives Castiel a firm push. Cas' back lands hard against the door, and he's letting it happen. Meg grabs his face in both her hands, kisses him, and Castiel is _letting it happen_. His arms twitch helplessly once, then he tangles one in her hair, and the other clutches her forearm.

Cas clearly has no sense of shame, or he wouldn't be doing this, _this_ of all things. Or maybe, Dean reflects with a sort of horrified detachment as he watches Castiel's head roll back and thump against the door, maybe this is less about lack of shame than lack of control. Maybe Castiel just can't fight it. Okay, so as excuses go, that's usually a lame one. But, hell, the noises Castiel makes sound desperate enough. Meg licks a wet trail up his throat and slides her hand down to undo his belt, and Castiel keens like he's craving this kind of contact, aching for it, going crazy without it.

"I promised you something," Meg whispers into Castiel's ear, loud enough for Dean to hear. She turns her head slightly to meet his eyes. "That last time," she adds with a smug grin.

 _That last time._ The words echo through Dean's head. He connects the dots, remembers Sam spotting the hickey, remembers being happy that Cas finally got to experience that one fabulous human thing that had always slipped him by.

Now, though. Now Dean is less than happy. Now Meg has her hands on Castiel's cock, and when had she managed to get his pants open and pull it free? And when had Cas found the time to get that completely, painfully aroused?

She gives Cas a lazy stroke, and Dean watches, paralyzed. He's fucking frozen in place and fucking staring and not doing a fucking thing. Because he's never seen that look on Cas' face and it's-- Dean doesn't know what it is, but it leaves him light-headed.

Then Meg sinks to her knees, and Dean can see where this is going but still can't believe it. She gives Dean a sly look from under her lashes and says, "Wish you'd thought of doing this first, huh, Dean-o?" then leans forward and swallows Castiel down in one go.

Castiel cries out, and Dean is seeing red. Finally, he surges forward, reaching for her head, itching to twist his fingers in her hair and tug her back viciously, away, away.

But Castiel's hand snatches out to intercept his arm. Dean stops, shocked, and lets Cas pull him to his side.

"Dean, I--" Cas gasps out, eyes intent on Dean's, pleading, but for what, Dean isn't sure. And how could he ever have thought that Castiel didn't know shame? It's obvious now, just looking at him, that some part of him is aware of what he's allowing to happen, that he's aware of all the reasons why it's a very bad idea.

And now of all times, Dean understands. He understands Castiel's reluctance to indulge in anything his vessel might have found pleasurable, to explore whatever humanity held in store for an angel on shore leave. Dean finally understands the danger of diving in too deep, the possibility of not breaking the surface again.

"Cas," he hisses. "You gotta stop."

Castiel's hand is gripping Dean's wrist tight enough to hurt. Cas is done for, completely gone, incapable of speech, much less of putting up a fight. It's wrong and deeply, deeply disturbing, to see him powerless from just pleasure and sensation, to see the straight-laced angel completely at someone's mercy.

It's wrong, and it's disturbing, and it's turning Dean on. It's turning him on like crazy. Dean doesn't think he's ever been this hard before. He's _aching_.

Yeah, he is so going back to hell when he dies for good.

Moist gusts of air meet Dean's skin every time Cas exhales, in time with the motion _down there_ , where Dean is studiously not looking, where a demon, a fucking _demon_ is--

He hooks a hand behind Cas' neck and tips his head forward so their foreheads are touching.

"Get us out of here," Dean says, dead serious. "Get us out of here, and I'll finish this for you. I swear. I'll do it. Just get us out of here. Get us away from--"

As if to test the sincerity of the offer, Cas leans forward and catches his mouth in kiss, a firm, wet, takes-no-prisoners _ohmyfuckinggodthisisreallyhappening_ kiss. Dean would take time to freak out, but Castiel's inexperience is still showing. He's kissing with fierce determination, no patience, no technique, and somehow that makes the whole thing less worth panicking over.

Dean pulls away for a moment, sucking in air frantically. "Easy," he tells them both.

It's only when Castiel pulls at him, pulls him flush against his body, that Dean realizes they had struck a deal. Meg isn't there anymore, as evidenced by the limitless body heat that's suddenly right up against him and Castiel's hard-on pressing into Dean's hip.

 _Okay, wow,_ Dean thinks. _This is really happening._

Now he would have to-- He would get to--

He moans into Castiels mouth, not quite understanding why the thought should make him even harder.

Castiel is clutching him tight, one hand fisted in Dean's shirt between his shoulder blades, the other pressing finger-shaped bruises into his arm. His mouth covers Dean's again, claiming, determined to breathe him in, like there is not a single thing in the whole fucking universe that's more important to Cas than doing this, here, right now, and the enormity of it makes Dean shudder.

Nothing about this is disturbing anymore, not as long as Dean doesn't think this to death, not as long as he lets Cas take what he needs. Fire speeds along Dean's nerves, sparking into life wherever they touch. Whether through layers of clothes, or skin on skin, it doesn't matter, he's burning all over, and it's the best goddamn thing Dean has felt in a really long time.

Cas is quickly catching on about the kissing, and he's not queasy at all about fighting dirty, probably doesn't know what qualifies as fighting dirty, so yeah. With Cas' tongue sliding against his, it's hard for Dean to keep track of anything, like why he offered to do this in the first place, and what exactly it was he'd offered himself up for.

He does, in the end, and struggles to get a hand between them, to try and close his fingers around Castiel's cock, but it's not going to happen with Cas clutching him that close.

"Cas," he breathes against Castiel's mouth. "You have to let me--"

He makes an obvious attempt to slide out of Castiel's grasp and down his body.

"No," Castiel protests, not letting go. He does shift his grip and stance, offering Dean access. "I want-- " he says and pulls Dean's hand down to his cock. "Like this." He closes the distance between their mouths again, and wow, Dean is on board with this, really, really on board with this, and not only because he doesn't have much of a clue what to do with his mouth on a cock. His fingers are curled around Cas, slowly stroking, squeezing, and that's fine. _That_ Dean knows how to do even with his eyes closed, which is a very good thing, since Cas seems determined to keep up the tongue-to-tongue action, not that Dean is complaining. No, really, no complaints here. Plus, he can rub his own hard-on against Cas' thigh now, a position which he abuses for long, breath-stopping moments. Breathing isn't high on his agenda at the moment anyway.

It turns out Castiel doesn't tolerate self-indulgence. He clamps his hands over Dean's ass, growls into his mouth, and Dean huffs out something that is half a chuckle, half a moan. He would never have guessed Cas would be like this, pushy and impatient. His money would have been on pliant and insecure. This-- This is infinitely better, and the whole damn thing goes both ways. Dean thinks he might go out of his mind, burst out of his skin, if something doesn't give soon. Something needs to happen, badly, and Dean's never been a push-over either. So of course they're kissing like the fate of the world depends on it, like they never plan to stop. It's not a necessity to get this over with, but it makes a fucked-up kind of sense. Neither of them has been known to do things halfway.

Dean tightens his fingers around Castiel, gets to work in earnest, uses every trick he's learned from his own responses. Cas starts making breathy little noises that go straight to Dean's cock and breaks away to pant open-mouthed against Dean's neck. Dean fists his free hand in Cas' hair and holds him like that, lips against neck, because hell yeah, that does things for him. Fantastic, thrilling things that make his brain short out and his stomach tighten.

Cas is close, really close, Dean can feel it. He's snapping his hips forward irregularly for more and faster. It makes rubbing off against him frustrating and rewarding at the same time. The unpredictability of contact adds another layer of sweet, sweet sensation, but the pressure never seems to be enough. Then Cas, with much more coordination than Dean would have given him credit for at the moment, slides a hand down between them and gropes for Dean's cock. He finds the bulge, squeezes once, and that's it, Dean is done for, he's gasping into Cas' ear and coming in his pants like a fucking teenager, hard enough for his vision to blur and his knees to buckle. He has the sneaking suspicion that the only thing holding him upright is Cas.

The rhythm he had going on Cas is completely shot to hell, but that doesn't seem to matter. Castiel moans something into his neck that Dean can't identify over the roaring in his own ears, tightens the hold he had on the back of Dean's neck and follows him over the edge, spilling all over Dean's fist, and probably his shirt and jeans, but Dean's really not caring about that at the moment.

Afterwards, the wall is holding them both up. Castiel winds down faster than Dean does, his breathing evening out, and that must be the angel bonus right there, Dean guesses. Then he thinks, _Holy shit, I had sex with an angel of the Lord. And it was fucking awesome._

They hadn't even managed to lose any clothes before getting off. Yep, tell-tale sign of beyond awesome.

It doesn't occur to Dean to disentangle himself, until Castiel's thumb starts to move against the back of Dean's neck. Just small strokes, but they make Dean shiver. As much as he wants to never have to meet Castiel's eyes again, he can't stand this-- this proximity any longer. It's too much. He pushes off the wall, away from Cas.

"Well, I had high hopes for a threesome, but this was almost as good."

Dean jerks away and around, looking for the source of the voice and finds it on the bed behind him.

Meg is here.

Correction, they're _all_ still here, in _her_ motel room. Dean hadn't even noticed they never made the trip back.

"Uh, Cas? What the hell?" Dean asks.

"I thought I had--" Castiel says crossly and a bit flustered. "It seems I wasn't in full control over my abilities at the time."

Considering the state Castiel had been in, Dean is prepared to forgive him for that.

"No shit," Meg says with a grin. "Guys, that was pretty damn hot. Two thumbs up. We should capture it on video next time."

Belatedly, Dean notices she still has a hand down her pants, even if it's currently not moving. She'd gotten off on this. The demon Meg had pleasured herself while watching Dean masturbate the angel Castiel to completion. Thinking about it in clinical terms drives the insanity of the whole thing home. Suddenly, Dean is acutely aware of the come drying in his pants and, not to forget, on his hand.

Castiel chooses that moment to take Dean's other hand in a firm grip.

"You're in full control of your abilities now, right, Cas?" Dean asks through clenched teeth, because, wow, he really can't deal with this shit right now.

"Yes," Castiel answers, but doesn't get the hint.

"Then get us the hell out of here," Dean clarifies.

"Oh. Of course," Castiel says.

"No need to thank me or anything," Meg cuts in from the bed, a little breathlessly. Her fingers seem to be moving again. Dean doesn't look, but Castiel gets that glazed-over look on his face again. Dean tugs hard at his hand.

"Cas!" he barks.

"It was my pleasure, really, guys. Don't be strangers," Meg continues cheerfully.

"Shut the fuck up, bitch," Dean tells her.

She winks at him once more and falls back against the sheets, laughing like this is the best fun she had in ages. Dean wants to get over there and strangle her, but Cas probably wouldn't appreciate Dean getting himself killed again, and it's not like Dean can ask him to smite her, would you, pretty please. Cas would have done so already, if he felt up for it. It might be a can't-smite-the-ones-you've-fucked kind of thing. As soon as that thought crosses Dean's mind, he wants to un-think it. He really doesn't need the image.

But mainly, he wants out of there, and he's more than a bit relieved when Cas finally aims two fingers for his forehead. The next moment, they're back in their motel room, presumably a safe distance away. Dean has never been happier to find himself in a room devoid of Sam, because 'awkward' doesn't even begin to cover the all-encompassing fucked-upness of the situation. Also, Cas hasn't let go of his hand.

"Dude," Dean says, lifting their linked hands demonstratively. "Not cool."

"My apologies," Castiel says and lets go.

"Uh," Dean says and gestures, unable to look Castiel in the eye. "You better put that away. Can't walk around with your dick hanging out."

Castiel looks down at himself in a way that would totally be funny, except that Dean doesn't particularly feel like laughing. He goes to wash his hands in the bathroom.

He half expects Cas to be gone when he returns, but the angel is still standing there, surrounded by that familiar air of helplessness in the face of humanity's quirks, complete with head-tilt. At least he's done up his pants.

Dean thinks they should probably talk about this. Cas is bound to be confused. Hell, Dean can't make heads or tails of this, so how is he supposed to explain it to someone else?

He goes to rummage through his bag, because that's as good a distraction as any. He needs fresh clothes anyway. And a shower. He really needs a shower.

Castiel finally breaks the uncomfortable silence. "Should I leave?" he asks, and that's a first: no flying off without asking permission.

"That's-- Yeah," Dean answers, not turning round. "You go do-- whatever angelic stuff you usually do."

"Very well," Castiel says, and now, of all times, he sounds insecure.

Dean turns to look at him, briefly, taking in the posture that's even stiffer than usual, the slight frown, the rumpled clothes, the curling and uncurling fingers at his sides.

Before Castiel can actually take off, and before Dean has thought it through, he hurries to say, "Look, just promise, if you need another fix, don't go to-- I mean, come to me, okay?"

"Another fix," Castiel repeats.

"Yeah," Dean says. "I can provide. I know sex. I like sex. Always did. It's not a big deal."

And he's definitely not blushing, not blushing at all.

There's a long, tense silence, until Dean is starting to wonder what he did wrong this time.

Castiel's voice is flat when he says, "I'm not addicted to the act of sex."

Dean can't help it. He laughs. "Yeah, right. You just threw common sense out the window and started fucking a demon for no reason. By the way, you should compare notes with Sam. You guys need to tell me at some point what it is about demons that gets you all hot and bothered. I really wanna know."

The temperature in the room drops several degrees. Dean shivers under Cas' narrowed eyes.

"The only time I get hot and bothered is when I am around you," Castiel says coldly.

Dean blinks. Before he can fully process the statement, Castiel has taken off.

With sudden clarity, Dean remembers that text message, the one he deleted a few weeks before. _The angel cries out your name when he comes._

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Dean sinks down on the bed and stares at his hands for long minutes.

He's still not gotten past the "Uh, what just happened?" stage when he enters the shower stall. He's chuckling to himself, and why, yes, he _is_ going insane, thank you very much. He's laughing quietly because it's funny, because everything totally went to hell, and for what? They never even got the information Cas was fishing for. Yes, it's funny. It really is.

And as long as he's laughing about that, about the screaming riot of a prank the universe has played on him again, he doesn't have to worry about other little insignificant things, like how's ever going to look Castiel in the eye again (now that Dean knows the angel wants in his pants, holy freaking crap). Or how Dean's ever going to look himself in the eye again (what with the hair-trigger orgasm and the fact that he'd do it all again in a heartbeat, yes, please, right now'd be fine). Or how he's going to explain the messed-up dynamic to anyone who catches on (which means everyone in line of sight of the Dean-and-Cas show, since Cas wouldn't recognize subtlety if it bit him in the ass, and Dean had never bothered in any case).

Dean lets the hot water beat down on his body and closes his eyes, shutting out the reminders, determined to let his mind go blank.

The scar on his shoulder is nothing special anymore, anyway. He's had it for more than two years, hasn't spared it a thought in months, isn't going to start thinking about it now.

He's also not thinking about the finger-shaped bruises on his arm. He's not thinking about those really hard.


End file.
